


Game Of The Shadows [Translated]

by koimizu



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Character Turned Into Vampire, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Translation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-16 23:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koimizu/pseuds/koimizu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya died and came back to life, only to find himself transformed into a vampire. However, life of an agent was still about the same things - affairs, and love.</p><p>(Translation of a Chinese fanfic, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7113493">影子游戏(Game Of The Shadows)</a> by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/GarciaVivar/pseuds/GarciaVivar">GarciaVivar</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GarciaVivar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarciaVivar/gifts).
  * A translation of [影子游戏(Game Of The Shadows)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7113493) by [GarciaVivar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarciaVivar/pseuds/GarciaVivar). 



> I wish to thank my dear friend Garcia for this lovely story, and for beta-ing for me; it's quite uncommon for a translator to have the pleasure of discussing the finer points of the story with the author, and it makes the process much less painful and more fun <3

He saw the bullet entering Illya's chest - the left side, he couldn't help noticing; then all he could hear was the echo of the blood running in his brain, and all he could see was distorted. Without thinking, Napoleon immediately ducked and moved towards his partner, using the walls and cars as cover, while THRUSH’s gunfire continued. _God, Illya..._

It was almost impossible to pass through the hail of bullets, but if there was anything THRUSH should have taught their goons beforehand, that would be “never infuriate UNCLE’s CEA”. The quickest way to enrage Napoleon Solo would be giving Illya a hard time; if you did that, you were as good as dead.

Therefore, in the adrenaline-induced haze, Napoleon didn’t even know how many shots he had made; but THRUSH’s gunfire ceased over time and silence took over. _Good._ He didn’t pause for a single moment and dashed to his fallen partner as fast as he could.

“Illya!”

His partner was on his stomach, his blonde hair stained with dirt, his right hand still gripping his Special tightly, and his left hand...Napoleon bit his lip. Illya’s nails bit into the ground, his whole left hand convulsively tense. Blood was not visible on his black suit jacket in the dim light, but the sweet metallic smell ladened in the air was evident enough. _God, Illya..._

Napoleon put two trembling fingers onto Illya’s neck to feel his carotid artery, half-expecting his partner to wake up and complain how cold his hand was. He almost smiled at the thought, but no; he couldn’t feel anything, as there was no pulse at all, not even a faint one. Illya’s pulse had stopped. He took half a deep breath (air didn’t seem to get into his lungs, however hard he tried), trying to pull himself together, and turned over Illya’s body.

His eyes were closed; Napoleon didn't know if he should consider himself lucky. If he could see the familiar shade of blue but not the twinkle which always accompanied, his sanity might snap anytime.

No breathing or heartbeat. The metalic smell filled his nostrils when he bent down to check, and the blood smeared onto his face.

“Illya?”

No answer.

“Illya...”

\---

And that was what Dancer and Slate saw when they found the pair; their superior kneeling on the ground, calling his partner’s name, again and again.

“Open Channel D, Slate here. Medical team support needed here, extremely urgent. Over.”

While Slate was hailing Medical, Dancer ran towards Napoleon and Illya to check on them. When she got closer, she noticed the heavy scent of blood in the air, and suppressed her reflex to throw up. She saw Illya unmoving, his blood-soaked shirt visible from his opened jacket; and Napoleon wasn't much better either: his suit was torn and bloodstained here and there, but he didn't seem to notice.

“Napoleon?” She tried, but he didn’t answer. “Agent Solo!”

Napoleon raised his eyes to her, but he didn't seem to recognise her or even see her.

“Napoleon? Is Illya...” Dancer kneeled and checked on Illya carefully. Then her movements slowed down, and her eyes were filled with tears.

“Oh my god, Illya...”

Shocked, she wasn't even aware of Slate emerging behind her, until he laid a hand on her shoulder. The noise of siren came from afar and the red-and-blue light flashed onto the walls, turning the elaborated graffitis into monsters clawing from hell. A few rats were clearly startled as they ran in and out of the overturned gabage bins.

\---

Napoleon had no memory of how he was pulled away from Illya and onto the ambulance; his persistent nightmares, however, were haunted by the replay of this fateful night, with the dirty alley, the sickening smell of blood, and Illya’s cold body.


	2. Chapter 2

Opening his eyes, he saw Mr. Waverly sitting on the bedside chair.

“It's past time you should wake up, Mr. Solo,” he glanced at his watch, “the doctors asked me to come down here half an hour ago.”

“Illya?”

Mr. Waverly didn’t speak for a moment; just the few seconds of silence was enough for Napoleon to recall everything happened on that night. For a moment he was almost hopeful: he must have been wrong, Illya must still be alive...

“I'm sorry, Mr. Solo. The bullet went straight through Mr. Kuryakin’s heart.”

“...understood.”

“The memorial service will be held at 2pm tomorrow, and you should be able to get out of the bed by then. Mr. Solo...” Waverly hesitated. Napoleon’s heart sank; Waverly never hesitated to speak, unless he had particularly terrible news to share.

But what else, _what else_ could be worse than the fact that Illya was gone? He still couldn’t accept this; still couldn’t bear to think about it. It still felt as if Illya would appear in his ward anytime now, complaining that Napoleon left him all those paperwork to do, complaining how careless he was, complaining about his flirting with the nurses. And now...now he would give anything just to hear Illya’s voice and see his blue eyes. But never, _ever_ would he have another chance again.

“Illya...” He called out absently; Waverly looked...tense. This couldn’t be good. Waverly? Anxious?

“Mr. Solo, I think you are entitled to know that on our way back to the Headquarters we had lost an ambulance, along with the driver, two medics, and Mr. Kuryakin’s body.”

Napoleon sat up abruptly from the bed and took a deep breath. His wounds were tore open, the tubes and lines on him fell off and tangled into a mess, but he couldn't care less; nor did he care about the blazing alarm, or the doctors who rushed in. He didn't know if the wave of emotion which engulfed him was anger or an unbearable agony; the only thing he knew was that he wanted to snap a few necks in response.

“Why?” He heard himself demanding, his voice so croaky it didn't seem to be his. Why did THRUSH do this? How could UNCLE let this happen?

But there was no answer. Sedative was injected into him, and he started slipping into ultimate darkness; his last scream, however, was so heart-wrenching that it startled a young nurse into running out of his ward in sobs.

\---

About a month later, Napoleon received his results from the Medical. Psychiatric department failed his assessment again, resulting in his application to return to the field getting turned down as well. After Waverly’s overt refusal (" _I'm sorry, Mr. Solo, but we cannot waste the manpower to track down a corpse_ "), his only hope was to get the field clearance. At least Waverly would not refuse his request of searching for his own partner; the old man knew where his bottom line was.

What made him even more anxious was the things happened in the past week. Three groups of UNCLE agents found their targets - documented THRUSH employees - dead in their offices or homes. Even stranger was the way they died. They were drained of blood, all of them, and the investigation team had no clue how. Waverly was disgruntled by this; if they got those people alive, the agents could have obtained some valuable information from them.

The initial assumption was that it was THRUSH’s extermination scheme, but that was soon deemed improbable. Many of the victims were high-leveled members of THRUSH, and stupid as they were, they had no reason to assassinate them directly without having some kind of security plan in place. Then was it some government agency, or a mysterious third party? What did they want from this? Why would they kill these people in such a peculiar way?

Soon the rumor spread in the headquarter like wind: the ancient myths of vampires. And yet the reason why Count Dracula would take revenge of THRUSH remained a mystery difficult to fathom. Others referred to him as Frankenstein; but who was his creator, and for what purpose? That was another dead end.

All these, however, were not Napoleon’s top concern personally. The night Illya died, something in his soul snapped; the sharp pain nearly knock him out, and even after that, the bloody wound would not heal properly, and Napoleon supposed that was the reason he could not pass the psychiatric test. But these days the wound started to itch, almost like it was reaching out to its other half in the void. _Illya?_ He wondered; it was no longer absolute silence in his brain, but some kind of inaudible noise: Illya seemed to be alive, hiding somewhere.

And that was why he felt so anxious. He watched Illya die; even if he was in denial both emotionally and rationally, his agent training persisted, certifying the death of his own partner in an indifferent tone. But now he could feel Illya’s existence again, just as the strange happenings emerged: a case so odd that even UNCLE agents could not find any clues - who else could that be, if not Illya?

But was it really Illya? Even with the same body...

_Body?_ Napoleon shivered. An idea started taking shape slowly in his head; he felt his stomach twisting.

He grabbed his communicator, “Open Channel D, Solo here.”

\---

“What you're saying is that, Mr. Solo, Kuryakin’s corpse was made into a monster?”

_Monster._ He had been avoiding the word, not wanting it to have anything to do with his partner.

“...something like that, sir.”

“Is that the work of THRUSH? But we’ve already ruled out the possibility.”

“I think Illya was indeed took away and resurrected by Thrush; but his willpower has always been strong, I'm not sure if they can have total control over him.”

“So Mr. Kuryakin is still working for us. But then why hasn't he contacted the headquarters? He didn't even reach out to you, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon closed his eyes.

“I'm not sure, sir, but Illya must have his reasons.”

“Do you think we can trust him? I wouldn’t doubt that if it was Mr. Kuryakin himself, but how much of him remains in the creature?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Then the safest approach is to put it under control or to exterminate it, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon winced. “Don't forget that it's Illya we're talking about here, and one with vampiric abilities. Even if we don't take the possible casualties into account...”

“That, Mr. Solo, is why I have approved your returning to the field, under such exceptional circumstances.” Waverly passed him a piece of paper, and Napoleon bit his lips.  
  
\---

He gulped down his whiskey in one go, and smashed the glass on the wall.

What was Waverly thinking, asking him to kill Illya for the second time? It is undeniable that if there was anyone who could do this, it would be Napoleon, and even for him the chance was just 50%. Theoretically. In reality he had zero chance at all; it was simply impossible for him to point the gun at Illya and shoot him, especially after watching him die once. He just couldn't.

Therefore, either he could convince Illya to come back to his side, or he would die in the hands of the monster who wasn’t really Illya.

"It's not like you to drink alone, my friend. I thought you'd be out somewhere.”

_Great_ , now he started hearing things.

“You look awful; or is it too dim here?” The living room light was turned on abruptly. “Napoleon? Are you still awake?”

“...Illya?”

When his eyes adjusted to the light that he recognised the face in front of him, Napoleon jumped up and pulled Illya into a hug, not even considering the other possibilities. It wasn't an illusion, thank god he wasn’t. His body was warm and trembled in his arms, laughing.

“Hush, it’s alright Napoleon, stop crying...” Illya put an arm around him, the other hand petting his back.

He was even prepared to be shot at the heart, or be drained like all those victims, if that was the reason Illya came to him for.

“I didn’t want to make an appearance so soon, Napoleon. But Waverly’s order today was outrageous, and the idea of you risking your life over THRUSH alone out there doesn’t sit well with me.”

Napoleon tensed. “How did you know?”

“Bugging. Don’t forget that our lab participated in the security work there as well.”

“You bugged the headquarters...Waverly’s office? Oh my.” He found himself bursting into laughter; this is so typically Illya. “Don’t tell me how you did that. But Illya, what’s going on?”

“I died, THRUSH turned me into a vampire, and they failed when they tried to erase my memory and control my mind.”

“So you...escaped and then stole everyone’s job? You don’t need me to tell you how disheartened the kids were...”

“I needed blood, Napoleon; and those were convenient targets.”

Finally he released Illya from his embrace, let him sit on the sofa, and went to the fridge to take out a bottle of vodka; after Illya’s death, Napoleon took all Illya’s belongings to his own apartment. He needed something to hold on to, he thought.

“No wonder I couldn’t find anything when I got back,” the vampire glared at him.

“Can you still drink?”

Illya shrugged, “It’s a waste for me to eat or drink. I need blood and nothing else. But useless doesn’t mean harmful, Napoleon. Yes, I can still drink my vodka, thank god.”

“So it’s not a bad thing to become a vampire, huh?”

Illya said nothing in reply, and simply took the glass for a swig.

“Illya...” Napoleon didn’t want to ruin the familiar and comfortable mood, but there was something he needed to know, “you said THRUSH couldn’t control you, so why didn’t you come back to UNCLE?”

“First of all, UNCLE had no reason to believe that I wasn’t a double agent, or that I wasn’t mind-controlled by THRUSH,” Illya looked away, “and...I don’t want to go back. KGB, GRU, and then UNCLE? I’ve had enough. Why would I want to go back? Now I’m finally free, Napoleon.”

“I...”

“Those things are not important. There’s only one person who is important, and for him I’m willing to-” he stopped abruptly, and asked, “Napoleon, do you trust me?”

Illya looked into his eyes while speaking, his icy blue eyes burnt agonizingly. Before Napoleon could react, he was already leaning close, almost touching him. His lips were dry, but shining like rubies. There was no breathing.

“I do trust you.”

His intense expression turned into a smirk at once; Illya retreated like a cat who got his fish, and his eyes was filled with mischief. “It’s alright then, Napoleon. I have my arrangements,” his face turned serious, “It is not the end of this; I think there’s still something odd. Be careful.”

He could only nod in response.

“Oh, right. Here’s a little gift for our Uncle Alex.” Illya added, putting a small cassette tape into his hand.

“What is this?”

“The testimony.”

And before Napoleon could ask the next question, Illya leaned in and his half-cold lips touched Napoleon’s cheek. Next second, he was out of the window and vanished into the night, leaving Napoleon dazed, staring at the darkness outside, wondering if he just had a too-good-to-be-true dream.

“Illya...”


End file.
